


Vital Signs

by PreseaMoon



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23508982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreseaMoon/pseuds/PreseaMoon
Summary: This work is a canon divergent au at its core, because we all know something like this did not and would not have happened in canon. However, in this work the only thing suggesting the au is the context itself. Beyond that, the greater implications are not really elaborated upon or delved into. So I cannot in good faith tag it.The AU can be summed up as: Koumei takes tiny Hakuryuu under his wing, and it is good.I feel very deprived of the implied Koumei and Hakuryuu content, so I must provide it myself. Though, it is mostly world building and pointless fluff(?)Ages are... Hakuryuu, 11 and Koumei, 20
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Vital Signs

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a canon divergent au at its core, because we all know something like this did not and would not have happened in canon. However, in this work the only thing suggesting the au is the context itself. Beyond that, the greater implications are not really elaborated upon or delved into. So I cannot in good faith tag it. 
> 
> The AU can be summed up as: Koumei takes tiny Hakuryuu under his wing, and it is good.
> 
> I feel very deprived of the implied Koumei and Hakuryuu content, so I must provide it myself. Though, it is mostly world building and pointless fluff(?)
> 
> Ages are... Hakuryuu, 11 and Koumei, 20

For the longest time the Kou Empire was only in possession of two metal vessels. Both of these belong to the same man, Koumei’s brother, who displays the common sense and respect magical items of their magnitude require. Perhaps it went without saying that sooner or later the Empire would want more metal vessels, more individuals wielding them, more of the prizes the dungeons hold, and perhaps Koumei being the winner of that dubious whimsy lottery shouldn’t be as surprising as it was. 

Supposedly it’s an honor. Deemed worthy to command more power than a man could have dreamed of during the wars that culminated in the Empire’s formation. Power so great the wars of the past won’t be recognized as such, once the new era sets in, and men start killing each other with the forces of nature rather than crude man made tools.

They shouldn’t be so eager to usher that era in, but the choice has been made independent of them. Elsewhere in the world. All that’s left for them to do is catch up and match that pace. They have to do what they can with what they have, and it doesn’t much matter whether Koumei likes it or not. As always, he will adapt, and he will learn to thrive.

In the end, his metal vessel isn’t much different from a sword or martial arts. The big difference is that it’s inside his fan, which he wouldn’t call a weapon, but his brother’s metal vessels have proven just how inconsequential that is. It will take time, he knows, to discover the shape this vessel takes in its true form. It will take even longer to master the magic, which until now he’s had relatively little personal contact or study with. If it resembles any of the challenges the dungeon presented he expects it to be a while. Ripping holes in reality to traverse space in an instant isn’t something he can fathom on the basest level, let alone the practical applications. It’s a power that, even in the most restrained capacity, presents near limitless possibility.

Something tells him their little magi isn’t going to be much help in the matter, but maybe the imperial magicians will know. Or at least give him a scroll or two with some theory. 

At the very least he’ll have an excellent excuse for the next year for why he can’t partake in this meeting or that training session. As Kou’s second metal vessel user, isn’t it of the utmost importance that he master it? He’s no Kouen, everyone knows that. It’ll probably take years. The weapon, the equip, the magic, the weaknesses, the list is endless.

Though, it does seem a little convenient, doesn’t it. Judar summons a dungeon with powers befitting an inactive combatant such as himself, what are the odds. His brother would master and excel in anything a djinn could throw at him. The most mundane magic or the most impressive, in Kouen’s hand he could turn them into devastating destructive tools. That’s simply the capability one such as his brother holds. The same can’t be said for Koumei, who excels in politics, economics, strategy, and struggles in most everything dealing with actually being a soldier. He somehow survived the war, but he’s sure his age and status had more to do with that than any particular talent on his part.

He’s sure Judar choosing him at all for this is some kind of joke.

Too clearly he can remember the way Prince Hakuren would flex his muscles and let the kids hang on his biceps like their weight was nothing. He would spin them about, do squats, run through the courtyard. All to their eternal delight, and he wouldn’t break a sweat, wouldn’t lose his balance, wouldn’t get annoyed with the repeated insistence for faster, farther, more.

After Prince Hakuren was killed, the request was made to Koumei in his place, once. And… the results weren’t anywhere near the same, to say the least.

It’s strange, uncomfortable even, to be part of the imperial royal family, now, and made to conquer a dungeon. Maybe it’s different, because Kouen conquered a dungeon before becoming the crown prince. But it’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder. If Prince Hakuren had been chosen, which surely he would have been eventually, how different would things be? When that day came, he would have been able to defend himself. He would have been able to escape, if he couldn’t defend himself.

But for no particular reason, they’ve decided to let a child determine who wields power and how much. Two beloved princes and a great emperor are dead for tradition that doesn’t belong to them and they continue to maintain.

Judar chose him, and he did so with an impish gleam in his eyes that said he knew he was causing trouble but didn’t care. Not out of malice, but because he’s a child, and that’s what children do. Especially spoiled children who know they’re above reprimand.

Judar chose him, and maybe there is something to it all, because this has gone better than Koumei anticipated in more ways than one. First, the dungeon itself, which challenged his intellect more than his physical prowess. Second, the djinn herself was a horned, sharp toothed, woman who wasn’t disagreeable at all about his pursuit of her dungeon. Third, the metal vessel, and its thrum of energy he can feel against his palm like the gentlest kiss. Magic circulates with only skin and blood as the thin buffer between it and reality. The hilt of his fan has become a focal point he’s never known, fine tuning his magoi to a pliable density he has little idea how to use.

It feels powerful. It feels reckless. Like it could turn the tide of battle in an instant.

He feels different. Like this bit of magic has altered his biology and maybe it has.

Whether that’s good or bad doesn’t matter much one way or the other.

His return home is unceremonious. There’s none of the excitement Kouen’s arrival will all but guarantee. Both at Rakushou’s gates and within the palace his reception is muted, almost as if he hadn’t gone anywhere in the first place. His return was dubious at best, but it might as well be business as usual as far as everyone is concerned. That suits him perfectly, actually. Frivolous delays on his journey back to his room and back to his bed is the last thing he needs. Not when reporting in and a much needed bath still stand in his way.

The former goes over painlessly. Her Majesty is overjoyed, ecstatic even, gushing over his success as if it were her own. His Majesty is pleased as well, except his praise is less effusive, more hard to pick up on at all beyond the fact Koumei has done as he was told. He did his part as a soldier of the Kou Empire, and his part will eventually lead to greater indulgence for His Majesty.

He doesn’t see his brother, which he doesn’t know if he should have expected to, but Kouen will want to hear details of the dungeon while they’re still somewhat fresh. Likely he’ll see him in the next day or two if he doesn’t see him tonight. Then, Judar sees him but can’t do more than perk up at the sight of him, his attention occupied wholly by a pair of imperial magicians giving a lecture.

After an extended bath that verges on luxurious it’s so overdue Koumei heads to where he knows his presence has been most missed, the pigeon loft. He knows they’ve been well cared for in his absence and there’s no rush, but he’s missed them. They’ve missed him too. They always do. When he arrives a lone lantern has been forgotten and illuminates the room. That means Koumei can simply enjoy their company until he’s ready for bed.

He opens the nearest pen and reaches his hand in, letting the pigeons inside squabble amongst themselves for who gets the seat of his palm. As the victor takes his prize Koumei pulls back, and spies Hakuryuu at the edge of his vision, trying to place a few tools on a shelf without drawing notice. Peculiar.

Koumei watches for a moment, and when Hakuryuu continues this game, initiates greetings. “Hakuryuu, I wasn’t expecting you to be here at this time.” He takes note of the pristine cages, the amount of feed in the pens. “Did you clean the pens?”

Hakuryuu flinches, of all things. His back straightens so fast it looks painful, and a shiver trembles through him as he tenses up. He twists around, eyes wide. His hands are behind his back like he’s been caught with something he shouldn’t have.

Sometimes interacting with Hakuryuu is like approaching a skittish cat. That much hasn’t changed, even if the reasons for it have. Koumei smiles, though on its own it’s not enough to put him at ease. “Is something the matter?”

Hakuryuu pouts at him, of all things. He leans against the shelf and Koumei can see the wood pressing into his shoulder blades.

“What is it?” Koumei frowns. “Did something happen while I was away?” No wounds visible on his face or neck. His hands, maybe? That could be why he’s hiding them. There’s nothing off in his posture, either. Hakuryuu is too adept at obscuring pain, but he’s not yet at Kouen’s level. The expression on his face, however, is more put out than upset or hurt.

Hakuryuu’s pout intensifies, which tells him… maybe he’s embarrassed about something that happened while Koumei was away. No one has to have wronged him in order for Hakuryuu to feel uncomfortable with something. It’s easy these days, when there’s little consistency in how anyone in the palace treats him. This isn’t how he usually reacts, though. This has a distinctly unsettled tinge to it that Koumei doesn’t know how to interpret.

Finally, Hakuryuu huffs and looks aside, almost returning to some semblance of recognizable. He glances at Koumei, shy, before asking, “Why did you go?”

“I went to a dungeon, remember?”

Hakuryuu looks insulted at the suggestion he forgot. But honestly Koumei isn’t sure what that question was meant to be. Rather than the excitement for adventure you’d expect from a boy his age there’s caution. Perhaps for a child like Hakuryuu adventure doesn’t hold much allure on its own, but this tension in him isn’t from concern. There isn’t any relief in his posture at Koumei’s safe return. There isn’t any anger born of worry from Koumei putting himself in such a position.

He’s wary, but Koumei has no idea of what. While his brain supplies magic as the answer, it doesn’t fit.

“But… why?” Hakuryuu asks, and he says it so plainly it distracts from the fact they both know why he went.

Still, he plays along. What other option is there, really. “An invitation was extended. By our resident magi. He doesn’t like rejection very much, as I’m sure you know.”

Hakuryuu’s pout tugs a little lower, nearly into a scowl but he doesn’t let the expression settle that far. He gives the tiniest whine before catching himself. Not in the mood for teasing, then?

“Did you have a fight with Judar?”

“...No,” Hakuryuu says, and then amends with, “Not really.” and the mild calm doesn’t feel forced. That boy is needy and attention seeking on his best days, always testing peoples’ patience whether he means to or not. Hakuryuu would just say so if he were the cause.

The thing with Hakuryuu is, he doesn’t really talk about these things. His hurt and his upset, even when it’s something he should speak up about he keeps it to himself. Even once you’ve found him out he keeps it tied up tight inside himself, smiling and insisting it’s nothing when it’s obviously not. It’s the sort of thing that your minders are meant to correct, but Hakuryuu doesn’t have any attendants. Hakuei is too young to guide him in that way. He used to be close with Her Majesty, but…

Koumei supposes in some sense that leaves it to him. As a capable and present adult in his life. As a surrogate brother. But he doesn’t know how to fulfill that role despite having his experience with younger siblings. He doesn’t know what a child like Hakuryuu needs or how to provide it. He doesn’t think Hakuryuu would accept, either, if he were to offer.

But does that really matter?

Children are children because they don’t know. They pout when scolded and throw tantrums when they don’t get their way.

In Hakuryuu’s case, maybe the responsibility falls to his instructors, but Koumei knows his schedule and instructors both aren’t all that consistent. Nor are they all that invested in him, from Koumei’s understanding of the situation.

“Hakuryuu, how about we grab a snack from the kitchens and you can catch me up on the things I missed.”

It’s purposely open ended. Koumei won’t push him no matter how much information he gives. Yet he dithers, remaining pressed to the shelf and looking away from Koumei. Somehow, with that posture and the large shelf framing him he looks profoundly aware of his own isolation.

The pigeon in Koumei’s palm warbles and flutters its wings. Hakuryuu’s gaze softens watching it, and he finally nods. He pushes himself from the shelf and straightens his robes. There’s nothing in his smooth hands and his wrists are free of marks as well. 

In the confines of Koumei’s room Hakuryuu doesn’t quite relax, but he’s less on edge. He climbs into Koumei’s bed and wraps himself up in a blanket, making sure it’s a smaller one that won’t reach Koumei by mistake. He’s still in his day clothes while Koumei remains in a few light robes from after his bath.

“What’s that?” Hakuryuu asks when he slides out a scroll and sets it aside on his desk.

“The imperial magicians gave it to me. It’s about magical theory. Apparently my metal vessel fits somewhere into the third type. I don’t know entirely what that means, but I’ll figure it out.”

Hakuryuu frowns, and he pulls the blanket up as if to hide his mood but only draws more attention to it. The imperial magicians, maybe? Koumei would prefer not to dwell on the reasons for why that may be, though.

“And what about you? What have you been up to in the weeks I was away?” He brings his lantern over with him as he moves to the bed and gets under the covers. Hakuryuu keeps his distance.

Hakuryuu takes a breath as he considers his answer. Then, he shrugs, and there’s something petulant about it. All things considered, Hakuryuu isn’t much of a handful even when he’s in a bad mood. Not when the mood is like this, anyway. His crying, on the other hand, wasn’t something Koumei knew how to handle before, and he wouldn’t say he’s found much of a grasp on it in the present, either.

“Nothing at all? I’m envious. While I had to travel through dirt and sleep in cold tents you got to do nothing but sleep in the comfort of your own bed.”

“I didn’t,” Hakuryuu says, protesting the mere concept of lazing about. “There were lessons. And training.”

“And how is that going?”

“I’m not good.”

Koumei draws his brows together. “Is that what your instructors said?” he asks, not fully believing it. Hakuryuu is eleven, during times of… not quite peace but the closest they’ve ever been to it. Surely there are areas he can improve, there always are, but Koumei has seen him spar a handful of times. “Bad” isn’t a word he’d use to describe his ability. “What did they actually say?”

Hakuryuu frowns and sinks into the blanket enough for it to collapse and shadow his face. “I don’t know. I keep messing up” His voice wobbles just a little.

“Mistakes are good. They’re how you improve.” After a moment of deliberation he asks, “Are they telling you how to fix your mistakes?”

“They can’t be fixed…”

“I see.” Hakuryuu’s glib determination to be subpar is something Koumei has repeatedly failed to understand. Does he think it is better for him, safer for him, to underperform in something so crucial to their culture? But even if so, it’s plain to see that he excels. In this matter, belief doesn’t make it so.

Hakuryuu peeks out at him, shadows and locks of hair splayed across his face make the image suitably pitiable, and Koumei sighs. He’s not going to reinforce this when he doesn’t even know what was said. 

“What did they say, though, Hakuryuu? The exact words.”

“That my form was stiff. And… I fell.”

“You fell?”

Hakuryuu nods. Miserably. As if falling is a grievous error to have made. “The ground was too smooth and my foot slipped. I couldn’t catch myself,” he says, hanging his head in shame.

“Oh?” Koumei tries to think of how, exactly, he would like to respond to that but continuously comes up short. 

“It hurt. And they told me to take the week off.” His head drops below his shoulders.

“When did this happen?”

Hakuryuu lifts his head and rolls to his side as he thinks about it. “A couple days ago. I have a bruise on my hip. And I hit my head too… on the ground and with my training staff...”

“It’s important to take breaks when you need it. So you don’t overexert yourself. If that happens you won’t be able to train at all. Maybe we should have Big Brother tell you all about it.”

“No,” Hakuryuu says almost before Koumei can finish speaking.

“That’s a shame. I’m sure he’d be—”

“No.”

Koumei falls silent. There’s no reasoning with him on this particular topic. Koumei doesn’t know what angle to take, or where to start with it. There are too many layers on both sides. It shouldn’t be Koumei’s job to find out where they overlap.

“Can I stay the night here?” Hakuryuu asks, retreating back under the covers to hide himself.

After taking a short breath Koumei answers, “Of course.” Then he asks, “Don’t you want to get your sleeping robe? Or maybe undo your hair first.”

Hakuryuu shakes his head. “I just want to stay here like this.”

Koumei sighs, looking at the lump that’s made a home at the corner of his bed. To himself he murmurs, “Me too.” And puts out the lantern at his side.


End file.
